he defied them with
his eye, ready to be martyred rather than fly before them. The school
master came to his rescue and he returned home to his mother.

During three months, the tall workman, Philip, frequently passed by La
Blanchotte's house, and sometimes he made bold to speak to her when
he saw her sewing near the window. She answered him civilly, always
sedately, never joking with him, nor permitting him to enter her house.
Notwithstanding, being, like all men, a bit of a coxcomb, he imagined
that she was often rosier than usual when she chatted with him.

But a lost reputation is so difficult to regain and always remains so
fragile that, in spite of the shy reserve of La Blanchotte, they already
gossiped in the neighborhood.

As for Simon he loved his new papa very much, and walked with him nearly
every evening when the day's work was done. He went regularly to
school, and mixed with great dignity with his schoolfellows without ever
answering them back.

One day, however, the lad who had first attacked him said to him:

"You have lied. You have not a papa named Philip."

"Why do you say that?" demanded Simon, much disturbed.

The youth rubbed his hands. He replied:

"Because if you had one he would be your mamma's husband."

Simon was confused by the truth of this reasoning; nevertheless, he
retorted:

"He is my papa, all the same."

"That can very well be," exclaimed the urchin with a sneer, "but that is
not being your papa altogether."

La Blanchotte's little one bowed his head and went off dreaming in the
direction of the forge belonging to old Loizon, where Philip worked.
This forge was as though buried beneath trees. It was very dark there;
the red glare of a formidable furnace alone lit up with great flashes
five blacksmiths; who hammered upon their anvils with a terrible din.
They were standing enveloped in flame, like demons, their eyes fixed on
the red-hot iron they were pounding; and their dull ideas rose and fell
with their hammers.

Simon entered without being noticed, and went quietly to pluck his
friend by the sleeve. The latter turned round. All at once the work came
to a standstill, and all the men looked on, very attentive. Then, in the
midst of this unaccustomed silence, rose the slender pipe of Simon:

"Say, Philip, the Michaude boy told me just now that you were not
altogether my papa."

"Why not?" asked the blacksmith.

The child replied with all innocence:

"Because you a